


Boxed In

by Naemi



Series: NCIS Shorts [32]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, Loss, Memories, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: His gaze wanders to the other boxes stuffed with memories that he keeps here; they're red and gold and look way more like Christmas, and dust has settled on all of their lids because he cannot bear to open any of them.





	Boxed In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lil_1337](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/gifts).



 

The box is stored away safely, not in the basement with the other items Gibbs rarely ever needs, but in the back of his closet. In a way, it's closer to his heart here and yet buried behind so many layers of life that he doesn't have to see it unless he goes digging for it.

Gibbs brushes aside clothes and moves a few bigger boxes that contain shoes and books and other objects he's going to donate this holiday season, and then his eyes land on the yellow cardboard. Like every year, his heart grows a little heavier when he reaches to trace the outline of the swallow-and-butterflies on its lid. The image, rendered in watercolors, doesn't fit the season at all, but Shannon drew it and Kelly painted it.

His gaze wanders to the other boxes stuffed with memories that he keeps here; they're red and gold and look way more like Christmas, and dust has settled on all of their lids because he cannot bear to open any of them.

The yellow box, however, Gibbs takes with him as he sits on his bed. It's light: a reminder that for years, the Gibbs family consisted of one person instead of three.

Gibbs lifts the lid carefully and places it beside him. Staring at him is his own handwriting—not his usual, hasty scribbling, but actually readable letters—in blue ink on an envelope. Like all the other letters in this box and the one before it, the topmost bears no address, only names: _to Kelly and Shannon_.

After seventeen years, the pain has faded, but this ritual, born out of his and Shannon’s first Christmas as a couple that he spent deployed overseas, always tears at the healed scars as much as it makes Gibbs feel at peace.

His family is gone, but the tradition of writing Christmas letters—whether he was deployed or home—he keeps alive. Those little notes said hardly more than _I love you_ and _I'm grateful for having you in my life_ and, of course, _I miss you_ , but there's no other message, nothing more the heart might desire.

With a soft sigh, Gibbs places this year's letter to his dead wife and daughter on top of the pile of recounts of his days without them. He loves them and he misses them and not a day goes by without him being grateful for having had them in his life. He tells them every year—and then he boxes these thoughts away and leaves the house and is all senior field agent until the time is right to reopen the old wounds.

And every time, he almost feels like he has a family again.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: The ghost of Christmas' past.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Visit my LJ-community [Bunny Bash](https://bunnybash.livejournal.com) to leave me a prompt at any time.]
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


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